


we're going home

by rekamohcs



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Annual Seijoh Reunion, Background Relationships, Boys Being Boys, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, Everyone loves Iwa, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Idiots in Love, Idk yall it's just a lot of sugar, If You Squint - Freeform, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru Fluff, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru-centric, Kissing, Kyoutani interrupts a moment and Oikawa is irritated, Love Confessions, Love Languages, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oikawa Tooru is a Mess, Oikawa Tooru-centric, Pining Oikawa Tooru, Reunions, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved, because I'm weak for soft!iwa and soft!oiks, emotional!oikawa, general softness, soft!Iwa, soft!oikawa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21653242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rekamohcs/pseuds/rekamohcs
Summary: “What are you trying to say to me, Tooru?”Oikawa sucks in a breath and continues staring at the water. He should have known that Iwaizumi wouldn’t let him back out – and that’s another reason why Oikawa loves him so; Iwaizumi forces Oikawa to show up, forces him to work through the things that make him uncomfortable, forces him to be the best version of himself.After a moment, Oikawa responds. “I’m trying to say that I missed you.”Iwaizumi pauses. “And I said that I know that.”Oikawa sighs and presses the heels of his palms to his eyes in frustration. “No, I don’t think you do.” He murmurs. He drops his hands back to his lap and turns to Iwaizumi so that he is finally looking at him. “I’m saying that Imissedyou.Missyou. I want – “There are fingers on his cheek, stealing the breath from Oikawa’s lungs. The pool lights reflect in Iwaizumi’s eyes like twinkling stars. He isbeautiful, like an untamed garden or a wild, rushing waterfall. Oikawa’s heart feels so full of adoration that ithurts.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 48
Kudos: 1073





	we're going home

**Author's Note:**

> *shrugs shoulders* I binged Haikyuu and this fell out of the cavity of my heart in response. It’s just a lot of soft, comfy nonsense. Best enjoyed with hot cocoa and a comfy sweater. Title from Vance Joy’s “We’re going home”, which constantly makes me think _Iwaoi_.
> 
> Currently has not really been edited because _I just needed to get it out, okay_. Take it away from me!

It’s been four and a half months, and one very, very busy semester for Oikawa Tooru.

He’s a third year in his Advertising and Marketing program, now. He went to three business conferences this semester and he’s been swamped at the advertising firm he interns at. He’s good at what he does and, as a consequence, he finds himself acquiring more and more clients, more and more work.

Iwaizumi is no different – he studies Physiotherapy, to the surprise of zero (0) people, and he started shadowing a practicing physician at the end of last summer. He’s constantly picking up calls and weekend clients that can only schedule appointments on Iwaizumi’s days off because of their busy adult work lives.

So, it’s been four and a half months since summer break ended – since the last time Oikawa saw Iwaizumi.

For the past three years at their respective universities, they’ve been able to visit each other at least one weekend of the semester. Oikawa likes when Iwaizumi visits because he gets to drag him to all his favorite coffee shops and bookstores, and, of course, pulls him into the gymnasium where he has practice and looks at him with those big, brown eyes and a _let me set for you Iwa-chan_ , even though all of Oikawa’s actual college teammates are _right there_ and more than willing.

(The team has come to recognize Iwaizumi as one of their own at this point. Iwaizumi tries not to think too hard about what that means. Oikawa doesn’t seem to think about it at all.)

When Oikawa visits Iwaizumi’s new temporary home, Iwaizumi likes to take him to the mountains nearby. Iwaizumi spends a lot of time hiking, and Oikawa likes watching as Iwaizumi climbs nature’s stairs until he’s at the top of the incline and standing tall at the summit, overlooking the city where his university lives. Iwaizumi likes to try and find the new places he’s been, pointing a finger into the distance as if Oikawa has any idea to what the former spiker may be indicating, but Oikawa asks questions and listens intently even so, absorbing as much information about the life Iwaizumi has lived without him as he can.

(Iwaizumi looks like he’s the king of the world in those moments, and Oikawa would be a bald-faced liar if he didn’t acknowledge that Iwaizumi _was_ the king of _his.)_

But – this semester has been busy, and so their semester visit had to be delayed over and over again until it simply became nonexistent, no matter how hard they tried to match their schedules up. They made it work with near-daily phone calls and frequent texts and the occasional Skype video chat, but _it wasn’t the same._

Oikawa misses his best friend.

Oikawa is nearly vibrating with anticipation. He’s been twirling the ice in his glass for _thirty minutes_ , chatting idly with a couple of his old Seijoh teammates while trying to inconspicuously watch the front door for Iwaizumi’s arrival.

Oikawa only feels slightly guilty that he’s not really putting effort into catching up with his _other_ high school friends. They get together every winter break for a Seijoh reunion. It usually turns into a scuffle between Yahaba and Kyoutani about two hours in, a slightly-tipsy-to-too-drunk-too-fast game of King’s Cup, and someone filling the hot tub with too many bubbles.

Last year, Matsukawa had woken up with bright purple hair and _no one remembered how it happened._

It’s always a grand time. Oikawa let’s himself let loose, let’s himself indulge a little, let’s himself trail his fingers over the broad shoulders of Iwaizumi’s back just a little more often than usual under the guise and flush of alcohol. He takes these fleeting times he gets to spend close to his best friend and pushes his limits, tests the waters of a solid four-year pining streak and Iwaizumi’s patience.

_Where is he?_

“He’s probably just caught up at the store buying booze, Oikawa.”

It’s Matsukawa’s voice that brings Oikawa out of his head and stop the clinking of the ice in his glass. He sticks up his nose with a raised brow, the aloof indifference of his expression a poor cover of his true emotions. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mattsun.” Oikawa lies.

Matsukawa looks unimpressed with Oikawa’s denial. Hanamaki, seemingly ever-present at Matsukawa’s side, leans an elbow on the taller man’s shoulder and waves his hand toward Oikawa with a smirk. “C’mon, Mattsun,” Hanamaki drawls. “Let Oikawa stew in his pining denial. Sometimes I think it’s the only thing that proves that our former captain is truly human.”

Oikawa huffs. There’s a retort on his tongue, but it dissolves like spun sugar because, at that exact moment, he sees Iwaizumi duck through the entryway door holding a case of beer.

It’s been four and a half months. Oikawa sees his best friend often enough over a webcam, but the grainy pixels do no justice to Iwaizumi _in person._

Iwaizumi is smiling at whoever has greeted him, white teeth peeking out from between pink lips. He’s dressed in a black V-neck t-shirt that dips low enough to tease the sharp cut of collarbones and hugs his arms in a way that outlines the defined form of muscle beneath fabric. His jeans are dark, and he’s wearing his favorite black Converse. His hair is just a touch longer than it was the last time Oikawa saw him, styled softly, and his skin is honey-golden, kissed by the sun as if his body were a garden.

“Well, damn.” Surprisingly, Oikawa is _not_ the one who speaks first. Matsukawa lets out a low wolf whistle before he says, “I’d say that our ace has always been sort of boyishly attractive, but he has upgraded to roguishly handsome. What’d’ya think, Makki?”

Hanamaki looks thoughtful, and Oikawa _glares._ “Yeah, I’d definitely tap that if I saw him in a club and didn’t know he was emotionally unavailable,” He pauses, leaving out the implied, _because he’s hopelessly devoted and committed to his idiot childhood best friend even though neither of them have confessed their feelings yet_ , before flashing a devious grin toward Oikawa. “I bet he can dance pretty well. I bet he gets hit on _all_ the time. I bet people try to coheres him into hot, steamy make out sessions where they get a little _too_ handsy and – ”

“Makki, I swear to everything that’s holy – “ Oikawa grumbles, his stomach twisting with the familiar surge of jealous possessiveness, but before he can finish, Iwaizumi glances over toward them and catches Oikawa’s eye. Oikawa’s words come up empty.

Iwaizumi maintains eye contact even while nodding and responding to the guy standing outside of the kitchen; Oikawa is pretty sure it’s the new team captain. It only lasts for a moment before Iwaizumi looks away to pat the guy on the shoulder with a smile, handing off the case of beer in his grasp. Then, he’s maneuvering through the small crowd of people to make his way toward the old Seijoh third years and his eyes are back on Oikawa.

Oikawa is standing and moving before he registers it, empty glass and ice cubes forgotten. Hanamaki and Matsukawa watch him leave with bemused exasperation. Iwaizumi is only a few feet away when he’s stopped by Seijoh’s new ace, eyes glancing over at Oikawa who is definitely _not_ hovering and trying not to keep himself from pacing impatiently. Oikawa is nonchalant. Oikawa is indifferent. Oikawa can wait.

(Oikawa can _not_ wait.)

Iwaizumi knows, though, and gives the younger player a polite smile, a, _let’s chat in a bit, okay?_ and slides away until he is standing in front of Oikawa, close enough to touch if Oikawa reached his hand out.

“Hey.”

_Four and a half months._

“You’re late, Iwa-chan.”

The words are out of Oikawa’s mouth before he can stop them. It’s a learned defensive mechanism – fall back behind petty words and the air of indifference, and no one should be able to reach the real, soft Oikawa hiding inside, right?

Iwaizumi offers a sharp-toothed grin. “Had to make you wait just a little longer.”

No one _should_ be able to reach the real Oikawa – but then there’s Iwaizumi Hajime.

Oikawa sputters, a soft dust of pink crawling up his neck that he can _feel._ “As if anyone would ever wait for you!” He shoots back, defensive and embarrassed at how easily Iwaizumi is able to crack through his armor.

Iwaizumi _laughs_ and rolls his eyes. Oikawa’s stomach flips. “Shut up, Oikawa. I can’t believe I actually _missed_ this shitty personality of yours.” He reaches forward with one of his freakishly large and beautiful spiker hands, his fingers skimming over Oikawa’s shoulder and down his back to pull him close.

Suddenly, Oikawa is engulfed in an embrace, and, just like that, Oikawa _melts._

Oikawa takes two seconds to be caught off guard by the sudden display of affection before he huffs and wraps his long arms around Iwaizumi and shoves his face into the crook of his best friend’s neck. Iwaizumi has always been _warm_ and has always been an excellent hugger – a fact that Oikawa knows from growing up with him, from getting upset so easily and so often for the first few formative years of his young life, from having Iwaizumi as his best friend, as the person who often comforted him when he fell victim to the demons he hides deep in the crevices of his soul.

A soft sigh parts Oikawa’s lips as he nudges his nose against the sensitive skin of Iwaizumi’s neck. It’s too intimate for _this_ , too intimate for two friends standing in the middle of a semi-crowded living room surrounded by a bunch of high school and college-aged boys that are still developing or have only recently developed an understanding of the concept of maturity.

It’s too intimate to be platonic and it’s exactly what Oikawa _wants._

He digs his fingers into Iwaizumi’s back and feels the dips of his shoulder blades beneath soft fabric. Iwaizumi hums and pulls back slightly, much to Oikawa’s internal despair. Oikawa inhales deeply to prepare himself to straighten out his expression and shove his heart back down into his chest but finds himself captivated by a new spice clinging to Iwaizumi’s skin.

(Oikawa knows that it’s a new scent because he’s spent nearly twenty-two years in the same plane of existence as Iwaizumi, has spent many nights curled together in the same bed when they were growing up, has spent years changing in the same room, using the same shower, inhabiting the same general space. Oikawa knows Iwaizumi’s usual scent as if it were his own.)

Iwaizumi pulls away, dropping his hands from around Oikawa and putting a small distance between them. Oikawa wants to step back into his space, but refrains. Instead, he tugs at the sleeve of his navy sweater, pulling it down over his fingers in a nervous habit to keep himself from reaching back out toward his best friend. “Did you start using cologne?” He asks, quiet and almost shy, as if acknowledging that he could _smell_ Iwaizumi meant that he too was acknowledging how intimately close their embrace was.

“Uh,” Iwaizumi scratches the back of his head sheepishly, and Oikawa positively does _not_ want to swoon. “Yeah. A couple of months ago.”

Oikawa’s cheeks flush as he inhales again, catching the scent in his nostrils and relishing in it. He’s certain Iwaizumi is trying to kill him because _why does he keep getting more and more attractive?_

“It’s nice.” Oikawa admits, voice soft, like he’s telling a secret. “I like it.”

The rouge of Iwaizumi’s cheeks is worth the embarrassment Oikawa feels from his admission. Oikawa begins to feel the piece of home that he’s been missing for the past four and a half months slide back into place.

\---

Oikawa is a physical touch kind of person. He’s spent an alarming amount of time studying the different love languages for no good reason. He knows them all: words of affirmation, quality time, gifting, physical touch, and acts of service. He’s always been a tactile person, always sitting a little closer than necessary, always hanging off of his teammates, always pressing his fingers into skin, teasing, ruffling hair.

Surprisingly, Iwaizumi is a words person. He says things like _I missed you_ or _I was telling my classmates about your amazing serving technique today_ or _you played a great game, Oikawa_ or _you’ll always be the best partner I’ll ever have_. He’s straightforward and blunt with his words, and Oikawa has always found it downright _terrifying_ because he himself has only ever used words as a defense mechanism.

Oikawa had found the concept of love languages so fascinating for a while that he obsessed over them like he had obsessed over volleyball when he was first introduced to it. He forced Iwaizumi to take quizzes with him so they could both understand how they expressed affection and how they preferred to receive it. Oikawa conveniently left out his reasoning of, _I want to know so that I can cater to you and maybe one day trick you into loving me._

So, it comes to no surprise that once Iwaizumi has been sufficiently swamped by the other attendees of the get together and is on his second beer, Oikawa manages to pull Iwaizumi down next to him on the sofa even though he’s in the middle of a conversation. He sidles up so that he can sit too close, side pressed up against Iwaizumi’s and fingers trailing over the honey-golden skin of his forearm.

Oikawa is on his fourth drink and it’s been _four and a half months_ and he’s a helpless, selfish, pining idiot who’s desperately in love with his best friend and he feels it all beginning to spill over and out from within the cavity of his chest.

Iwaizumi only laughs, a brow raised alongside the upturn of his pretty lips. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” He asks, referring to how Oikawa just rudely and quite literally pulled him out of a conversation with another person, but even as an insult, there is a soft fondness lilting over the words.

Oikawa snorts and tucks his face into Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “Please. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. He pulls his arm out of Oikawa’s grasp so that he can throw it over his best friend’s shoulders. Oikawa sighs into the embrace, pushing impossibly closer. It’s all too close, too intimate, too _real_ , and Oikawa feels a bit dizzied by the smell of Iwaizumi’s new cologne and by the heat of his too-close and too-sun-kissed skin.

Oikawa feels the butterflies dancing in his stomach, feels the way his heart crashes in his chest, and wonders how he went so long without _this._

“I missed you, too, you know.” Oikawa murmurs, soft and a bit unsure, because he’s not a words person, and expressing his true emotions verbally isn’t something he practices regularly.

Iwaizumi hums quietly, the deep drum vibrating through his chest and into Oikawa’s bones. Oikawa feels soft fingertips brush through his hair lightly and _shudders._ “I know.” Iwaizumi says after a moment. “I bet you’ve been pretty touch starved, huh? You clingy baby.”

Oikawa’s immediate instinct is to _deny, deflect, detach_ , to lie and say something like, _I have plenty of people who want to touch me, thank you very much,_ but he doesn’t have it in his heart to deny himself at this moment. Instead, he sighs softly, hot breath puffing out over Iwaizumi’s skin and relishes in the goosebumps that rise over Iwaizumi’s arm in response. “Mmm,” Oikawa hums as Iwaizumi’s nails scratch idly at his scalp. “I really have been.”

Iwaizumi isn’t expecting such blatantly honest expression of emotion from Oikawa. He turns his head slightly to gaze down at Oikawa’s head on his shoulder with wide, curious eyes and a golden-pink tint to his cheeks that Oikawa wants to kiss. “Oh.”

One of Oikawa’s hands comes to rest on Iwaizumi’s thigh, fingers trailing idle patterns against the material of his dark jeans. “Is this… okay?”

Caught off guard again, Iwaizumi’s fingers still in Oikawa’s hair. When he speaks, he is so close that Oikawa can feel his breath on his forehead. “You don’t normally ask.”

Oikawa lifts his gaze, suddenly realizing how incredibly close the two are. They are sharing the same air, and if he shifted just slightly, he could press his lips to the light stubble of Iwaizumi’s jaw, could brush them against the corner of a soft, plush mouth. “I don’t normally ask.” Oikawa responds quietly. “And nothing normally changes.”

This time, Iwaizumi pulls back slightly so that he can catch Oikawa’s gaze and hold it. His fingers are still in Oikawa’s hair, and Oikawa feels his heart trying to leap out of his throat and into Iwaizumi’s chest. “Oikawa,” Iwaizumi begins. “ _Tooru,_ ” He decides to amend, and Oikawa’s fingers fist against Iwaizumi’s thigh as his heart flips. “What are you saying?”

The words are _right there_ , right on the tip of his tongue, because Iwaizumi is a _words_ person, and if Oikawa doesn’t _say it_ , doesn’t _ask_ for it, Iwaizumi won’t really know.

_I want more, I want you, I want you and me, I want to take on the world with you, I want it all._

He opens his mouth, the words peaking at the back of his throat, his courage rising as high as he can force it. “I’m saying – “

“ _Iwaizumi!”_

They’ve forgotten their surroundings, too caught up in the tiny, insurmountable shift between them to remember that they were still in a room filled with boys with only a recently developed understanding of the concept of maturity – and apparently respect.

Kyoutani is suddenly standing in front of the sofa, hands on his hips and scowl on his face. Iwaizumi looks just as startled as Oikawa feels. He drops his fingers from Oikawa’s hair, resting his hand at the small of Oikawa’s back instead. “Uh.”

Kyoutani points his finger at Iwaizumi accusingly. “The new Seijoh team members wish to challenge you to a duel.”

Oikawa wants to drop kick Kyoutani into _space._

The setter groans in frustration and lets his head fall down to Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Iwaizumi feels his cheeks flush brightly, gaze flitting between Oikawa, Kyoutani, and the group of young men huddled in the corner, bright eyed and bushy tailed in hopes of beating the one and only great Iwaizumi in an arm-wrestling contest.

Kyoutani obviously doesn’t understand any of the cues being sent his way. “To an arm-wrestling match.” He says, as if to clarify something Iwaizumi hadn’t already pieced together.

Iwaizumi clears his throat. Oikawa untucks his head from Iwaizumi’s shoulder to glare at everyone else in the room. Matsukawa and Hanamaki watch from the kitchen with mild amusement. Yahaba looks as if he’s very close to stomping over and dragging Kyoutani out to the patio to throw him into the pool. “Can it wait a few minutes?”

Kyoutani crosses his arms over his chest. “No.”

“Oh my _god –_ “ Oikawa begins, irritation and embarrassment flooding his voice. Iwaizumi squeezes his side gently, shooting him a look.

“Okay, fine.” Iwaizumi glances between Kyoutani and Oikawa ruefully. “I’m willing to kick a few asses.”

Oikawa does _not_ pout as Iwaizumi pulls away. He does _not_ resist the urge to grab at Iwaizumi’s arm, and he does _not_ feel the stone of complete disappointment drop into his gut.

(Because _will I ever gather the courage to try and start this conversation again?_ )

Iwaizumi chugs the remainder of his beer before settling down at the table, and even though Oikawa is unhappy with this change in events, he still watches from a safe distance, unwilling to pass up an opportunity to ogle Iwaizumi’s beautifully crafted arms.

\---

Iwaizumi remains undefeated. Kyoutani and Hanamaki both despair over this fact. Oikawa is finishing his fifth drink when he decides that he needs some fresh air and slides his way quietly out to the pool deck.

He kicks his shoes off and rolls his pants up before slipping his feet into the cool water. Watching Iwaizumi entertain the younger kids reminded Oikawa of many of the reasons he fell for the spiker in the first place – he’s patient, he’s honest, he’s kind. He’s a good teacher, he knows how to bring people together, and he is adored by so many others. Oikawa feels a little guilty for wishing to monopolize Iwaizumi’s attention – his best friend deserves to be showered with the affection of their other friends, too.

He isn’t on the deck by himself for long. He doesn’t even turn to look as Iwaizumi discards his own shoes and rolls his jeans up. He sits himself next to Oikawa close enough for their shoulders to brush and offers a bottle of water to the setter. “You should probably drink some water or you’re going to have one hellish hangover tomorrow.”

Oikawa smiles softly. “Iwa-chan, are you my mom?” He jokes, taking the water.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and bumps his shoulder against Oikawa’s in retribution, laughing softly.

It’s quiet around them, save for the ruckus of boys inside the house. They sit together in silence for innumerable long moments until Iwaizumi breaks it again.

“What are you trying to say to me, Tooru?”

Oikawa sucks in a breath and continues staring at the water. He should have known that Iwaizumi wouldn’t let him back out – and that’s another reason why Oikawa loves him so; Iwaizumi forces Oikawa to show up, forces him to work through the things that make him uncomfortable, forces him to be the best version of himself.

After a moment, Oikawa responds. “I’m trying to say that I missed you.”

Iwaizumi pauses. “And I said that I know that.”

Oikawa sighs and presses the heels of his palms to his eyes in frustration. “ _No_ , I don’t think you do.” He murmurs. He drops his hands back to his lap and turns to Iwaizumi so that he is finally looking at him. “I’m saying that I _missed_ you. _Miss_ you. I want – “

There are fingers on his cheek, stealing the breath from Oikawa’s lungs. The pool lights reflect in Iwaizumi’s eyes like twinkling stars. He is _beautiful_ , like an untamed garden or a wild, rushing waterfall. Oikawa’s heart feels so full of adoration that it _hurts._

Iwaizumi leans forward and brushes his nose against Oikawa’s, eyelashes fluttering. His fingers curve down over Oikawa’s lean neck and his nose brushes along Oikawa’s cheekbone until he is resting his temple against Oikawa’s, soft, reassuring breaths gusting over the sensitive flesh of Oikawa’s ear.

“And I’m saying that _I know._ ” Iwaizumi repeats, firm but fond. There is a soft brush of lips against Oikawa’s temple, and Oikawa realizes, then, that Iwaizumi is speaking to him in the language that Oikawa prefers and recognizes – with his touch.

The words, _oh my god, I love you,_ are very near the surface of bursting from Oikawa’s lips. Iwaizumi pulls away and lets his hand drop from Oikawa’s skin. Oikawa swallows down the burst of affection even as he chases after Iwaizumi’s touch. “Okay.” He settles for. And then, “We can… talk about it.” He tries, wanting Iwaizumi to know that Oikawa is willing to speak in his language, too.

Right then, there is a loud crash from the kitchen followed by even louder shouts. Iwaizumi releases a long-suffering sigh and says, “Maybe later, when there are less idiots around.” He pulls his feet out of the water. “I can’t believe _we_ have somehow become the parents of this group.”

Oikawa pouts, chancing a glance through the sliding glass doors and willing his heart to stop its frantic beating. Hanamaki appears to be doubled over from laughter. Matsukawa has his face buried in his hands, shoulders shaking with mirth. The younger players seem to be frantically whirling around the living room’s open space. “Well, it’s not like we can trust Mattsun and Makki to keep _anything_ alive.”

Iwaizumi barks out a laugh and offers Oikawa a hand. He takes it and doesn’t let go.

\---

The three hours that follow are some of the most frustrating and yet amusing hours that Oikawa has lived through to date.

There are a lot of people who like Iwaizumi. Oikawa watches as Seijoh alumni and new players alike shuffle up to Iwaizumi, some throwing arms over his shoulders, others shyly trying to open up conversation with him. Oikawa realizes that he himself may be popular with many others outside of their old teammates, but Iwaizumi has, and will always be, the team’s most coveted player.

When he can free himself, Iwaizumi sits himself down next to Oikawa. He makes sure they’re pressed together, skin to skin, much closer than is necessary. Oikawa tries to socialize and focus on anything other than the focal point that is Iwaizumi Hajime, but he fails over and over again, continuously bringing his attention back to his best friend.

They talk about things they’ve already talked about and then they talk about things that they haven’t. Oikawa slowly slips from just-a-little-tipsy to definitely-more-than-just-a-little-tipsy as time ticks by, drunk on alcohol and dizzy from Iwaizumi’s closeness. The later it gets, the more frustrated Oikawa becomes that he can’t have Iwaizumi to himself.

(He reckons he will never _not_ be selfish. He will always, always want the world in his hands, and the world is Iwaizumi Hajime.)

At some point, there is a game of strip poker. Oikawa is tortured when Iwaizumi slips his shirt over his shoulders, all sinewy muscle beneath skin-kissed skin. There are new freckles dipping over Iwaizumi’s collarbones. Oikawa wants to kiss them.

Kindaichi goes red up to his ears when Iwaizumi comes up shirtless, too. Oikawa notices that he’s sitting a bit too close to Iwaizumi for his comfort and feels the hot flush of possessiveness flood his veins. Kindaichi has always looked _up_ to Iwaizumi, but Oikawa doesn’t like how he’s looking _at_ him now.

So, Oikawa does what he normally does under the guise of alcohol: he begins to claim.

He giggles at something Matsukawa says from across the room, tipping his body into Iwaizumi’s, feeling the flush of hot skin against his arm. Iwaizumi catches him and holds him upright, which gives Oikawa the perfect opportunity to link his arm through his best friend’s and press his face into the crook of his neck in a gesture too intimate for other eyes but not anything the group hasn’t seen before. “My hero!” Oikawa croons, smiling into Iwaizumi’s skin.

Iwaizumi flushes a beautiful honey-pink all the way down to his exposed chest but doesn’t push Oikawa away.

Kindaichi politely excuses himself to go chat with Kunimi in the kitchen.

Oikawa visibly relaxes when Kindaichi leaves, the game of strip poker beginning to dissipate in favor of other general mayhem. There is a voice in his ear when Oikawa’s act of inebriation fades, “You don’t have to do that, you know. Kindaichi is just a kid.”

Oikawa turns his nose up and does not acknowledge the hot flush that rises to his cheeks.

After that, Iwaizumi puts his shirt back on, to both Oikawa’s displeasure and his relief. Someone sets the smoke detector off from trying to melt chocolate in the microwave in a plastic container. One of the new players suggests trying to ride a mattress down the stairs, but Kindaichi manages to convince everyone that this is _a bad idea, guys, c’mon, we don’t want to break the bannister!_

There are smores roasted over the stove, a few shots of cheap tequila scattered throughout the night, one broken lamp, and, at some point, a loud raucous of a time competing at Mario Kart until, eventually, at a very early hour of the morning, boys start to fall asleep in various places.

Iwaizumi is by Oikawa’s side most of the night, flitting his fingers over skin and through hair with a warm fondness that makes Oikawa’s heart stutter. He gets brave at around 3:37AM in the morning, and presses his hand to the small of Oikawa’s back beneath his shirt, fingers carving soft, teasing circles into the heated flesh, occasionally drifting over Oikawa’s sensitive ribs or dipping below the edge where Oikawa's jeans meet skin, and Oikawa thinks that he might just melt into a puddle of hot desire and affection right there on the sofa that belongs to some unsuspecting parental figure that Oikawa has never met.

And, somehow, miraculously, at 4:43AM in the morning, Oikawa eventually finds himself curled against Iwaizumi’s firm chest in a bed that doesn’t belong to either of them.

Some of the younger players are still roughhousing downstairs, their excitement echoing against the walls. Oikawa doesn’t care, though, because they managed to find a room with a bed large enough for both of them _and_ a door that locks.

It’s been four and a half months, _god damnit_ , and Oikawa just wants some time with his best friend. Wants some time to parse out what is developing between them.

(Wants some time to maybe learn what it feels like to kiss him, to press his fingers into sensitive skin, to learn what makes Iwaizumi boneless, to make him melt into a similar state of boiling adoration that Oikawa has been feeling all night.)

Iwaizumi’s fingers have already found their way into Oikawa’s hair, nails scraping gently against scalp, and Oikawa already feels like a puddle of content and slightly buzzed affection. He sighs softly and leans further back into Iwaizumi’s chest like a lazy cat and Iwaizumi’s free hand slides around his waist as if it belongs there.

(It does.)

There is a tension layering the air in the room, a string winding tightly and waiting for the opportune moment to snap. Oikawa feels the fire simmering beneath his skin, a flame that has been burning for so long, just needing a little fresh oxygen to become an all-consuming inferno.

Iwaizumi’s voice is near his ear when he speaks, breaking the quiet tension of the room. “ _Tooru_.”

It’s a plea – a question.

Oikawa’s entire body shudders in response. He twists in Iwaizumi’s grasp until he is facing his longest and dearest friend, eyes searching for Iwaizumi’s in the darkness. He trails a hand down Iwaizumi’s side lightly, fingers dipping under his t-shirt and teasing the skin of Iwaizumi’s hip. Iwaizumi lets out a shaky breath, and Oikawa feels the last remnants of his sanity and control slipping away.

“Jesus, I missed you.” Oikawa breathes, fingers tightening on Iwaizumi’s hip. He leans forward, nose brushing Iwaizumi’s. “I just really _missed_ you, you know? I can’t even begin to express how much – what I – _ugh._ ” Oikawa is _frustrated_ because he doesn’t know how to say the things he wants to say. “ _Hajime_ ,” He ends up saying, reverently like a prayer. “I just really love you.”

His breath ghosts against Iwaizumi’s lips as he speaks. Iwaizumi makes a broken sound, his fingers tightening in the fabric of Oikawa’s shirt at the small of his back, subconsciously pulling Oikawa closer until their bodies are pressed together like the puzzle pieces they were designed to be. There is a moment of pause where they both just _exist_ together in the same space, and then Oikawa is pressing forward just slightly so that his lips brush against Iwaizumi’s.

The tension snaps.

The kiss is soft and slow at first, exploratory and accepting, making space for the years of mutual pining that have built up between them, and it’s delicious even though Oikawa feels as if he’s drowning. The urge to touch and feel is overwhelming – there’s just _so much_ of Iwaizumi that he wants to explore all at once and he _can’t_ because he only has so many fingers.

Iwaizumi rolls them over, licks into Oikawa’s mouth as if it’s not the first time they’ve kissed, presses Oikawa to the bed with strong hands. Oikawa is pliant beneath Iwaizumi’s touch, shuddering at the feel of his tongue against his own. His hands slide around Iwaizumi’s shoulders, clinging to him until he can no longer keep the surge of affection blossoming within his chest from bubbling over.

He tilts his head back, breaking the kiss and gasping for air like the drowning man he is. He feels tears pinprick the corners of his eyes as his emotions begin overwhelming him. Iwaizumi presses his lips over his jaw and down the hallow of his throat, and Oikawa finds the words, _I love you, I love you, I love you,_ falling from his lips like a mantra even when they tremble at the edges with emotion and the tears escape the corners of his eyes.

Iwaizumi says it back over and over and over again in the swipe of a tongue against Oikawa’s collarbone, the nip of teeth at an ear, the press of fingers into soft skin. At some point, Iwaizumi notices the dampness of Oikawa’s cheeks and the tremble in his fingers. He cups Oikawa’s face in warm, gentle hands and kisses him softly and serenely.

“Why are you crying?” He asks, his voice quiet. Oikawa picks up on the slight shake in the words, an indication that Iwaizumi, too, is feeling a bit overwhelmed with emotion.

Oikawa takes a breath and kisses Iwaizumi deeply, pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth and sucking gently, drawing a hot groan from the back of Iwaizumi’s throat. He pulls back and swallows the lump in his throat. _It’s just the alcohol_ , Oikawa wants to say, because, well, that’s probably _partly_ true – Oikawa is an emotional drunk.

Instead, though, he tells the greater truth. “I just – “ Oikawa tries, voice cracking as his fingers slide over Iwaizumi’s hips for purchase. “I’m feeling a lot right now.”

Iwaizumi hums and kisses the corner of Oikawa’s lips. It’s so saccharine and full of sugar that Oikawa whines softly as if to say, _how is it that you can make me feel so much and so deeply?_

“That’s okay.” Iwaizumi responds, wrapping an arm around Oikawa’s waist and sliding down so that he is laying on his side next to the setter instead of hovering over him – giving him space to breathe. Oikawa curls in on himself and into Iwaizumi, tangling their legs together and wrapping his arms around Iwaizumi like a large spider monkey. Iwaizumi makes space to accommodate, opens his arms and slides his fingers into Oikawa’s hair.

When Iwaizumi leans forward to press his lips in a soft kiss to Oikawa’s forehead, Oikawa’s pinpricks of tears at the corners of his eyes become stronger currents, and suddenly he finds himself shaking, sobbing with pent up emotion, with the feeling of finally, _finally_ coming home after what has seemed like so long of being displaced, even though Iwaizumi has been by his side even in the oldest memory that Oikawa can recall from the youngest time of his childhood.

(Years of being in love, years of pining, and months of absence will do that to a person.)

Iwaizumi whispers soft nothings into Oikawa’s skin, murmurs of _I’m here, I’m here, I love you, I’ve got you, It’s just us_ bleeding into Oikawa’s flesh like brands.

They fall asleep like that. They don’t wake up until late afternoon, milky sunlight flitting in and pressing into their skin. Oikawa’s head is pounding, and so is his heart. Iwaizumi’s arms around him are steady.

He writes _I love you_ over and over on Iwaizumi’s skin until his best friend’s eyes flutter open, heavy with sleep and a night of drinking. Iwaizumi kisses him, morning-soft and pliant, and Oikawa feels his heart expand with affection yet again.

“Hajime, I – ” Oikawa murmurs, desperate to convey his feelings over again as if he has to make up for years and months of lost time.

Iwaizumi smiles against his skin. “I know.”

.

_We’re going home._

_If we make it or we don’t, we won’t be alone._

_When I see your light shine, I know I’m home._

_If you’re waiting all your life, you won’t ever go._

_When I see your light shine, I know I’m home._

**Author's Note:**

> twitter~  
> [come yell at me over there](https://twitter.com/rekamohcss)


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